The Moon, the Sun, Mars and the constellation of Mong aligned, and The Zoo finished their ROPs on a Friday, which also happened to be a payday, the November payday, and hence that time of the year where the Traditional Silly Season begins and Squaddies are required, under Queens’ Regulations, to drink twice their own bodyweight in Lager.
Despite all the warning signs being evident to anyone who enjoyed an IQ of double figures, the Company staff did nothing to split The Zoo up. All those hours wasted learning about Maslow, the years of experience in man-management, Venn diagrams showing Task, Team, Individual etc etc were, in the finest traditions of my glorious Corp, ignored totally and the four miscreants were allowed to move back into their little party zone.
Arborfield was buzzing with excitement; the money was in the bank, the Levis were ironed, desert boots brushed, Pierre Cardin shirts expertly pressed, in anticipation of a massive weekend. The sounds of Happy Mondays, Stone Roses, Oasis and Blur competed in a cacophony of noise from a hundred different sound systems, up to four per room, as the young heroes of SEAE prepared to exercise their right to stagger down Wokingham High Street with Pork Bayonets erect, Pints of Stella unfurled and Drum ‘n’ Bass…erm…drumming from the open doors of the Public Houses.
As luck would have it, the Corporals Mess, which was really just the Function Room above the NAAFI with slightly less threadbare carpets and slightly less bent brown tin NAAFI ashtrays on the Formica tables, were having their Christmas Function on the Saturday night, so in preparation they had brought in the EEC Beer Lake conveniently packaged into cases of 24. Like you do, when there is a willing workforce sat around in Holding Platoon, you get the young, honest, hardworking Craftsmen to do the donkey work and shift all the booze from the back of the Transit van into the Store adjacent to the Cpls Mess. Of course, as we all know, watching a load of Craftsmen carrying case after case of beer and alcopops up the stairs is tiring work, and it wasn’t long before the Lancejack supervising them decided to catch forty winks in one of the ever-so-comfy chairs. Big mistake. One of the members of the Zoo quickly changed the padlock for the storeroom to one of his own, which of course had two keys.
Later that night, under cover of darkness and assisted by Fosters Night Vision Beer Goggles™, kindly donated by the Cpls Mess for their help in humping the beer, The Zoo carried out The Big Beer Heist of 1995. All the beer and alcopops were swiftly moved from the storeroom and into The Zoo, the padlock carefully replaced (I am reliably informed that NBC Inners are perfect items to prevent “dabs”), and the party began.
For the princely sum of £5 per head, anyone could come to the Free Booze Party in The Zoo, as long as no questions were asked, wink wink, nudge nudge. The Zoo was kicking, it was the post-ROPs party to be seen at, anyone who was anyone was there, even Sgts who had heard on the jungle drums that The Party Of The Year was in full swing had come down from the Mess to get amongst it. Smirks and winks were passed round as the LCpl who had supervised the original beer move arrived, and he seemed to enjoy the evening, happily swigging away, totally oblivious to the fact that he was assisting the criminals in disposing of the evidence through the medium of turning beer into piss. A great night was had by all, the last revellers left around midday on the Saturday and all the empties were deposited in different skips all round camp, to spread the load and avoid suspicion.
On the proceeds of the party, The Zoo decided to go Billy Big-Timing it down Reading on the Saturday night – half to avoid the outrage and fuss when the Cpls Mess turned up to see a Store Cupboard which contained a few cases of Diet Coke and a half empty box of out-of-date Prawn Cocktail Seabrooks Crisps and half because there were Maidens who needed spearing.
That though, as they say, is another story.